


Saving damsels in distress is easy, being a decent person is hard

by Not_an_American_kid



Category: Original Work
Genre: A lot of first-times, Abusive Relationships, Bonding, Buddy roadtrip, F/M, Fantasy, Gay Sex, Het Sex, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Male Protagonist, Misogyny, Period-Typical Underage, Rough Sex, Sexism, Shameless Smut, Spit As Lube, Switching, Unrequited Crush, Verbal Abuse, Wymer killed it, chivalry is dead, dragons are killed, killing for money, medieval times, protagonist is an asshole, ruthless murdering, sword for hire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-03-01 19:23:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13301571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_an_American_kid/pseuds/Not_an_American_kid
Summary: In which a knight rescues a princess just for the money, and is rather annoyed when she expects him to stick around.(This is just for fun, because I don't have time to update my other fics.)





	1. The devil takes any opportunity given to him

**Author's Note:**

> Really I just wanted to write about a knight who was a damn asshole. 
> 
> (Also this is basically just me making up stuff as i go along)

To Wymer, everything was about money. All he did, every chore, every job, every second spent sweating and panting while continuously slasing at sacks full of straw, every moment of tasting blood in his mouth as he shot his sword through chests and stomachs, was for money. And everyone knew it, too. 

 

Wymer was known for being good at his job, great at it, actually. But the reason he had to travel past several borders between towns every few months was because another reputation of his always followed after he was done with one job. He was shameless. He was ruthless. He didn't care who he had to kill, who he had to protect, who he had to rescue; If the money was there, he'd take it, and it didn't even have to be a lot of it, and he always seemed proud of that, somehow. A single bag of gold coins could make him barge into a fortress and smite every inhabitant with no mercy, even when he walked out with his face caked in blood. So generally, people didn't exactly like him, they definitely didn't treat him better than the bare minimum that was required for public decency.

 

When he walked into a tavern, people firmed their jaw and moved one seat away from him, because they were repulsed, he knew. When he paid a prostitute and walked out of the room, she would spit after his feet, he knew. He didn't care. He never cared.

 

 

So that's why it came as a bit of a surprise when a skinny little man with a funny hat and tight leggings walked into the tavern Wymer had lodged in, the mans small body quivering as the whole backwash of the village stared at him with blank expressions. The smooth purple of his attire made it clear that he was from a wealthy household, and a few of the men sitting at the bar had their hands twitching as they glowered at the golden buttons adorning his shirt. His squeaky voice pierced the loudness of the tavern, and he shakily unrolled a document from under his arm. "I have come to seek out a knight with the name of Wymer." Even at such a short sentence, it seemed his voice cracked fifteen times, and he shrunk just as he uttered the last syllable.

 

Wymer, who had been sitting alone in a booth, raised a hand, and all eyes dropped to him, the only noise in the front of this tavern was the creaking of the old wooden table as Wymer put his legs on it. "And what does the sire of short stature want from me?" He scowled, and even though most of the others thought the same of the little stranger, it seemed like they found it personally offensive only because Wymer said it. The man in purple swallowed, not moving from the open door. "The king wishes to see you." Was all he said, and Wymer stood up, pulling himself to his fullest, tallest stature, pushing his hips forward with his hands.

 

"Well then it must be important, right?" He tutted, leaning down to look the man in the eye. "He better not waste my time." This wasn't his king, so why should he care? Worst case scenario, he got banished, but he had only been here a few days, so he could hardly have caused enough trouble to have that make sense. The small, purple man, or rather the king's servant, huffed and turned to leave, mustache seeming to point up in arrogance, glancing at Wymer to make sure he followed. "You will be handsomely rewarded." 

 

Now that, that was enough to make the knight follow the servant out into the sun, his chest puffed and a sly smile passed to anyone that saw them walking down the muddy street. 

 

 

Wymer and the messenger took a carriage to the castle, which lay a long ways from the village. No words were exchanged, and the little man had situated himself opposite Wymer, in the corner of the carriage, arms tightly crossed and nose umpleasantly crinkled.

"So what does your merciful master need me for, little sire?" Wymer offered the start of the conversation, and the messenger pouted, refusing to look at him. "I know what, but I shall not tell you, the king should be the one doing that. All I can say is that my king desperately needs you, and is willing to pay a lot for your services." He shuffled awkwardly. "And my name is Bassett, not sire." He looked away, and Wymer chuckled. "If the king needs me so desperately I won't mind staying in his bed, if he pays me for each night at least." Bassett visibly cringed at this. "And Bassett? Little? I see your parents named you appropriately." Wymer scratched at his neck, smile only widening as the messenger curled into a little ball of distaste.

 

 

When they finally arrivaed at the castle, Wymer was at least impressed by the sheer size of it. The castle itself was a tall, square construction, with four towers, each waving a flag with the kings shield proudly displayed upon them. Surrounding that main building was a whole town, protected by two walls curling all the way around it, and looking at them, they seemed newly reinforced.

 

By all of this, Wymer had already suspected this king was wealthy, and Bassett acknowledged this immediately after they came through the front gate. "King Ulmer has sworn that your work in his service will both grant you a fortune, but also the love and adoration of the people." He looked up at Wymer, sneering. He obviously did not love and adore him. "You should count yourself as unbelievably lucky that he chose _you_ for this. I have heard of you.. Wymer the bloodthirsty, Wymer the ruthless, Worm the knight." He snorted, and Wymer cackled. "Worm? I was not aware of that nickname, they have gotten better and better." He held his hands behind his back as they traversed through the town, the people there giving him strange looks, but he ignored them, because he knew that in that square stone castle, there lay treasures beyond his imagination.

 

And once the little Bassett had opened that door, Wymer could take those treasures, no matter how many people this king wanted him to kill.


	2. And thus, we become intertwined

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wymer sets off on his adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still a very boring story, I am very aware.
> 
> And, before you even get a chance to read it, I must apologize for the manner in which the smut is written; I read some pornographic literature from ye olde days (particularly "A Dialogue Between a Married Woman and a Maid"), and I adopted the aloof style of writing, as smut is one of my weakest points and words we use today don't quite fit with the medieval setting.

While Wymer twirled around as he walked down the paved road, Bassett was on a very straight line to the castle, not noticing the knight snooping around and observing the townspeople as they went about their own business, the white houses blinding in the sunlight, smoke rising into the blue sky from every thatched roof. It was not an especially pretty town, but it was definitely cleaner than some castles Wymer had previously been to. He heard Bassett scoff, and hurried after him, and they entered through a rather unprotected gate that led into the main castle. Immediately after the entered, the heavy wooden doors slammed shut, and they were in a windowless stone hallway, torches lining the walls, a safe distance away from the tapestries that hung from the ceiling, each one looking vastly different ages, and Wymer assumed they were all heirlooms from the previous kings, as they displayed the same shield he saw on the castles flags.

 

There were suits of armor and statues hidden away in holes in the walls, expressions solemn and holy. Wymer took the extra measure of touching each one, seeing the chalky stone residue on his fingers aferwards and getting rid of it by wiping it onto the armor that was displayed. He zig zagged from wall to wall, inspecting each crack in the wall of the dimly lit castle, but Bassett still did not stray from his straight line of walkimg. When Wymer looked ahead of them, he saw that the carpet had clear indentations, matching up with Bassetts small steps perfectly. So he really was the kings little errand boy, yet he was clad as if he were a member of the royal court. Wymer looked forward to telling him that. A few women, clothed in long, shapeless robes and headpieces that disguised their hair passed them, whispering quietly as they turned and walked into different hallways, Wymer raising a hand to greet them, though they turned away their heads. He didn't care.

 

They reached another door, this one carved with images of saints and knights, twisting wyverns and drakes adorning the edges of these epic depictions. Wymer had always wanted to be pictured on one of those when he was a child, but now he had smashed so many of them to pieces with his sword and axe, he saw no value in their delicate beauty. Bassett looked at Wymer, eyes wide and mouth tight before he approached the double doors, a hand on each one as he grunted in extertion to push them open, revealing a throne room, ceiling seeming to be as tall as the castle itself, a long velvet red carpet stretching from the entrance to a platform whereupon a simple wooden throne sat, an elderly man in humble, yet tastelessly rich robes, his crown a golden band upon his white hair. As Wymer and Bassett entered, people who sat in booths at the sides of the room stilled, looking at them with dead eyes, faces ghostly pale and artificially blushed by some sort of red powder. They all wore colorful attire, all of which Wymer found hilariously hideous, but he only smiled at the attention they gifted him.

 

Bassett trotted ahead, hopping along the carpet like a flea, skinny legs springing. Once he had come close enough to the throne, he fell to his knees, nose just barely touching the carpet. Wymer, on the other hand, sauntered slowly ahead, resting elbow on his swords handle that was strapped to his belt, looking at all the court members with a calm, yet unbearbly smug expression, the king rubbing his hands together nervously as Wymer finally came behind Bassett, poking at the mans back with his pointed shoe, making him shoot straight up, bowing to the king once before straightening himself, not even glancing at Wymer behind him.

 

"My most gracious king, I have found and brought to you Wymer the knight, as you ordered me." His voice resinated through the tall room, the falsetto of it staying for far longer than it was welcome. The king barely looked at Bassett, keeping gaze on the knight. "Yes, thank you, Bassett." He cleared his throat, and Bassett timidly hopped to the side of Wymer, who came a few steps closer to the throne. "O gracious king o' mine, I am Wymer the knight, or Wymer the ruthless, or Worm, whichever you please. I have come by the request of your small purple messenger." Wymer gave Bassett another tap with his foot. "What does your excellence need me for?" Wymer leaned forward and the king looked at Bassett for a moment, as if wishing to ask if this really was the right knight he had retrieved.

 

"Greetings, knight Wymer. I, King Ulmer, have requested your presence, so that you may go on a quest to rescue and bring back my daughter, princess Fayre. She was abducted by a dragon some weeks ago, and taken to an abandoned fortress, and I fear for her life." The kings voice was low and rumbling, but it was not confident, despite it's formal tone.

 

"And I was your first choice for saving her?" Wymer replied, clasping hands together.

 

"Yes, some other knights have attempted to rescue her of their own volition, but all have died or returned with failure."

 

"And what will I get out of this?"

 

"oh, um.. If you bring back my Fayre unharmed, I shall give you three chests of gold, grant you lordship of my town, and Fayre's hand in marri-"

 

Wymer held up his hand, shushing the king, a smirk crossing his features. "You had me at gold. I care not for any other reward, your highness." He stood proudly, tapping the handle of his sword as he raised his voice, glancing around at the court. "I will return princess Fayre to you, king Ulmer, no matter the cost." There was a slick heroism to his words, but they were squandered by his sarcastic tone. The king did seem pleased though.

 

"Thank you, sir knight. Before you leave, you must be prepared for the journey, and battle. Bassett will personally ensure your comfort during your stay at the castle." The king sunk into his throne, relieved at Wymers compliance. Bassett was not the least bit relieved, and had gone pale in the face, frowning as he took a last bow and hopped off to the door, Wymer strolling behind him, the doors slamming shut and echoing into the throne room.

 

"Have you no respect for a king?!" Bassett blurted out, not looking behind him as he stormed down the hallway; Wymer easily caught up with his short steps though, staying by his side as they walked. "He is not my king, and when you know there will be no consequences, why not have fun?" He leaned down, barely reaching Bassett's height. "But in such a little body, I guess there is no room for fun." Bassett did glance at him then, only to shoot him a glare. "Pah. Even if you can save princess Fayre, I will never give respect to you, SIR knight." He scoffed, taking an abrupt turn that left Wymer stumbling. "I will tell the cooks to prepare dinner for you. And you.." He turned to Wymer, pointing a finger at him. "You are NOT allowed to touch ANYTHING in the meantime." He sneered, and Wymer shot two hands up, taking a step backwards.

 

"Fine, I will not touch your dingy castle, it's crumbling enough as it is."

 

"Hmph." Bassett opened a door near them, and disappeared into it, though the sounds of dishes, metal and water were easily heard from within, as well as the smell of soap. Wymer wondered for a moment why Bassett had entered through the backdoor of the kitchen, and smirked to himself as he realized Bassett really didn't have as much authority as he pretended to. Now that he knew he would only encounter maids, Wymer followed, and was met by the sight of women with their sleevs rolled up, scrubbing at plates and goblets with surprising aggression and speed. As he leaned against a rack where tablecloths hung, watching Bassett run off to the stoves, a cleaning maid immediately noticed him.

 

"Excuse me, sir." Her voice overpowered the rest of the kitchen, but no other maids paid them any mind. She pulled up her skirt as she marched towards Wymer, her pink lips pulled into a tight little frown. "What are you doing in the kitchen?!" She stopped only a step away from Wymer, looking up at his towering form with no smidge of fear on her face.

 

"Why, milady, you are soaking wet." He commented, looking at the maids hands, where bubbles and soap suds reached her elbows, the spots where she had fisted her dress being darkened by the water. Her face reddened, more likely from anger than embarrassment.

 

"Quit your wise-ass snarking, why are you here?" She was not backing down, standing on her toes to be one head under Wymer.

 

"Braeden!" A squeaky voice made the maid snap her attention away from Wymer before he even had a chance to respond.

 

"That is the kings knight you are speaking to! Return to your duties immediately, or you will be punished for your disrespect." Bassett was taking determined steps, glaring up at the maid, apparently named Braeden, who clenched her fists, glaring at Wymer again.

 

"A knight? A knight is noble, handsome and good, and I see no such thing with this... man." Even then, she did back away. "Hmph. If it is so, let it be so. But don't let him bother us again!" She trudged away back to her station, where she whispered some sort of obscenity to herself, the other maids looking puzzled.

 

Bassett let out a displeased harumph, Wymer smiling against his own volition as he glanced from the maid to the little man.

 

"Don't mind Braeden, she is a village girl." Bassett's mustache twitched in irritation, his hands planted on his hips. Wymer leaned down to be at eye level with him.

 

"You said you would never respect me, but you just told off that fair lady for insulting me." He cocked his head to the side, watching Bassett's face drain of color. "So you must have a little ounce of respect for me, eh?" He patted Bassett on his poofy hat as if he was a dog.

 

"No such thing! The king would be dissatisfied with me if I allowed the staff to harass you." He blubbered, turning to leave. "Your meal will be delivered to your room. I shall show you there." His voice had gotten considerably lower, and Wymer began following Bassett out the door, but he turned before he closed it, directing his gaze to Braeden, who had continued working.

 

"I will see you in my bedchamber tonight, milady!" He shouted, loud enough for all of the kitchen to hear, and Braeden had opened her mouth in protest, but Wymer had shut the door long before she had the chance to shout back. Bassett gave him a strange look before he continued down his personally paved path in the carpet.

 

 

 

The bedchamber, once they reached it, was better than Wymer had anticipated. Dark and cold, sure, but a dimly lit fireplace was opposite the oaken bed, a thick red blanket draped across it, and the bedside table held an unlit candelabra. A tapestry hung on the southern wall, depicting what looked to be a king marching into battle. Wymer snorted at the depiction before he moved over to a wicker basket filled with lumber, throwing a couple of logs into the barely living fire as Bassett fidgeted in the doorway, until someone new approached the room, holding a tray containing bread, cheese and assorted dried meats. Breaden, of course.

 

She did not look pleased.

 

"Well, milady, I was right." Wymer mused, taking the tray out of Braedens hands a bit more forcefully than he had to. Her face reminded him of an incredibly sour plum. "Shut up." She hissed through her teeth, Bassett shooting her a glare that she reciprocated with even more malice, until she stomped away, shoulders riding up to her ears.

 

"On one hand, stubborn women are fun to chase." Wymer turned and laid the tray on the nightstand, sitting down on the bed, Bassett looking at him with a raised brow. "On the other, you can never tell whether they genuinely despise you, or if they are in denial regarding their need for your hand up their skirt." Bassett's face flushed and he swallowed, glancing off.

 

"Well."

Bassett exclaimed, pausing before continuing his sentence.

"I'll be... leaving, then." He was about to step out the door when Wymer interrupted him.

 

"I think not, little man. You will accompany me for this meal." Wymer was picking apart a hunk of meat, shoving the bits into his mouth in an unbelievably rude fashion that Bassett would've fainted at if he had not become aware that Wymer was not one to expect any sort of decency from. He really looked like he would rather be anywhere else. "Lord have mercy on my soul..." He said to himself before closing the door, eyeing the bed suspiciously before getting up on it as well, sitting as far from Wymer as was physically possible, averting his eyes from the eating knight.

 

"So." Wymer said, inbetween chewing, running a hand through his fair hair. "How is this princess Fayre of yours, anyway?" He looked at Bassett, who only glanced at him for a moment before beginning to wring his hands, looking off as if reminiscing.

 

"Our princess..." he muttered, becoming tight lipped. "She was... So beautiful, the most sought after maiden in all of the kingdom. Her hair was like the fields of wheat in the summer, waving in the gentle breeze, eyes the color of the sky... and she laughed so often. You could not be sorrowful in her presence." Bassett sighed, Wymer almost choking on a bite of bread as he laughed out loud, putting a hand on his chest.

 

"Hair like fields of wheat? What kind of poetic nonsense is that?!" He chuckled, Bassett crossing his arms tightly and huffing in annoyance. "So you wanted to bed her?" Wymer added, once his laughing fit was over. Now it was Bassett's turn to choke.

 

"W-what?! How can you even say such things! She is a PRINCESS, and she is far too young for... for anyone like me." He lowered his head, Wymer scooting closer and patting him on the back. "There there, my lovestruck dwarf. You're probably right, a princess does not wish to bed her own servants. They are only eligible for princes and knights." He scoffed, smiling widely, twisted. "Like me." He cocked his head to the side, Bassett not meeting his gaze. "Cheer up, man. Soon enough, the princess will be returned." He spoke mockingly, and Bassett felt anger bubble inside of him.

 

"Have you ever even slain a dragon?! I would like to see a vicious beast such as that throw you to the mud!" He snapped, brashly, and immediately cowered, as if fearing a physical punishment for the slight. Instead, Wymer chuckled wholeheartedly, a laugh that rumbled in his chest. "Ever slain a dragon? Oh, naïve bellboy, a dragon is childsplay! As simple as slicing a sausage, just go for the neck in one fell swoop, and the beast is a wretched corpse upon the earth." His body turned towards Bassett, and he leaned, face close to his and smile twitching for just a moment. "You see, dwarf, I, like the saint George, would skewer my spear down the dragon's throat before it's fiery breath could even reach it's forked tongue." He leaned back then, smile softening to a smirk. "Now, you may go. I have a journey to prepare for, and trust me, I need a lot of stamina for such a quest as this." He grinned, and Bassett quickly jumped off of the bed, irked by the uncomfortable conversation.

 

"Very well. A horse and supplies will be made ready for you tomorrow morning." He cleared his throat, lingering at the door. "The... The thing about dragons..."

A pause.

"How many have you...?" Bassett was interrupted by Wymer.

"Perhaps 10 or more, they are plentiful in prosperous kingdoms; their foul nostrils can smell gold from miles away. You are lucky all it did was take your princess." He gazed at Bassett with such calmness, a dark light playing in his half-lidded eyes. Bassett swallowed and left, putting a hand over his heart after he had closed the door. Perhaps Wymer could indeed save Fayre, but the means to the end were what worried the servant most.

 

 

 

When dawn broke the next day, and the horse was prepared, it's saddles bountiful with food and cloth, Wymer was...

 

still asleep.

 

They waited until the afternoon, and it was then the knight emerged from his chamber, golden locks hidden by the cold steel of his helmet, lean, muscular body draped in a chainmail hauberk, and too wearing gauntlets, poleyns, vambraces, greaves and sabatons. He looked like a knight, even though the minute he opened his mouth he would not seem to be so. He climbed upon his steed, gripping the reins like he had done a hundred times before, and gazed upon the castle servants gathered around him.

 

"Well, my dear peasants; Do not miss me while I am gone, for I will certainly not miss you." Before any had a chance to respond, his heels hit the horses sides, and with a whinny it trotted off down the road. A few folk stood outside and watched him as he left the safe walls, and would venture out to rescue their beloved princess.

 

 

It was perhaps a few miles down some dusty coutry road when Wymer noticed a peculiar shuffling in one of the side saddles.

 

"Oh, has a rat somehow snuck into my bags?" He chortled before hopping off the horse, grabbing the bundle and taking slow, measured steps towards the small stream that lay close by. "Perhaps it would be best to drown it now, rather than let it scutter off into the grass." He held the saddle above the gurgling clear water when a loud voice rang out from within it.

 

"DON'T YOU DARE!" It screamed, and Wymer recognized the voice immediately, unlatching the bag and letting its contents tumble onto the ground. There was bread and meat wrapped in silk, and then a small man clad in purple, his large hat askew on his brunette head. "Oh, Bassett, you snuck into my saddle bag? You could've just asked, I would've let you in with open legs- I mean arms." He stood and watched as Bassett got up, brushing dirt off of his velvet and satin clothing. "Don't think I did this because I like your company, I am simply here to make sure you DO in fact accomplish your task." He crossed his arms so tightly Wymer thought he would break his own arms.

 

"Ah, I see, I see... Really, how untrustworthy do you think I am? I am hurt that you would assume I was so dishonest to accept your king's request only for the free food." He picked up said edible goods, putting them back into the saddle bag. "Although, now that I give myself that idea, it sounds tempting." He seemed to consider it for a moment, but Bassett had marched off towards the peacefully grassing horse, tugging at the stirrups, but the grand steed was far too tall for him to even attempt to climb it. Wymer chuckled. "Hey, hey, don't be so eager..." He approached the horse again, securing the bag to the saddle again before grabbing Bassett by the waist, putting him up on the saddle where the man grasped its mane desperately, looking at the ground as if he were dangling from a tower. Wymer proceeded to get up as well, looking much more befit to the size of the steed, grasping Bassett's hips to steady him. "Now we are comfortable, let's get on with it." He clicked his tongue, and the horse flicked its ears as it lifted it's head and began walking casually along the path.

 

"Uhm... Could you... Have it go faster? The situation is quite time sensitive." Bassett remarked, rather uncomfortable with the sensation of Wymer's body continually grinding against him to the rhythm of the horse's steps on the uneven road. He had the suspicion that was the knights intention. "A true knight has his horse follow his own mind, and I am rather indifferent to when we reach our destination. Let the horse go at it's own pace." Wymer almost cooed, and Bassett wondered at how a man so apathetic to human suffering could be so gentle towards an animal bred to obey cruel commands from it's master. "...Very well then." He resigned, and sighed quietly.

 

 

When they had passed the green meadows and reached the brown and yellow wheat fields, the road turned to a muddy pigsty, lowly farmers and peasants huddled in their cloaks as they tended to their crops, almost all of which would be given to whatever sour lord they served. Wymer paid them no mind, but Bassett anxiously eyed them, inadvertently leaning into Wymer's abdomen. A young girl of perhaps 16 stood by the roadside next to a small ragged house, long black hair a tangled, knotted mess around her dirtied face, eyes a piercing blue. Wymer stopped the horse when he reached her, looking down upon her as if she were a snake in the grass. "And what would you be happening to look at?" He brashly asked, and her expression hardened. "We don't see many knights around here." Her voice was cold, hands clutching the brown sash that went over her head and shoulders. "My dear, that is because no knight would wish to come here." Wymer raised himself again, Bassett awkwardly looking away from the girl, not wishing to partake in whatever quarrel the two were having.

 

"Might you be willing to spare us coin?" She asked, quietly, though not respectfully, and Wymer glanced at the workers in the field, realizing those were her family members. "If you have room in your bed, perhaps." He said, and the girl immediately took a step back, sneering. "Forget it then." And Wymer tapped his heel against the horse, and they left the site.

 

Bassett had a particular sour taste on his tongue, and his expression had likely given it away. "Do not think me greedy, my little page, I simply believe in the idea of fair trade, and a good conscience isn't a material good." He explained, yet Bassett felt no less disgusted. "Yet a girls innocense is?" He scowled, and felt Wymer tense behind him. "No girl is innocent, and she has had men before. I know such things, you come to do so once you have had your 10th time." He sighed, leaning head down to be next to Bassett's. "Really, you seem to know nothing of the world outside of romanticized christian values!" He leaned back up, and gave the reins a little tug, the horse trotting faster along the road. "And perhaps that is better than your own values." Bassett retorted, earning a giggle from the knight. "You are absolutely adorable, like a kitten that bites it's owners hand."

 

 

They went on along the road, watching as the flat fields rose and fell in great waves of green hills, the road littered with the leaves shaken loose from the wind-blown trees that lined either side, their crowns rustling in quiet whispers when the breeze passed through their frail branches. Bassett had rarely left the castle walls; he had been born there, and he had expected to stay his whole life. But now, he was not sure when he'd return to the safety of those dark corridors, for now, there was only an open blue sky, and a knight of questionable moral above and behind him. For a moment, he thought there was a terrifying beauty to it all, like an uncaged tiger with it's teeth bared and stripes stark against it's firey fur.

 

Wymer was quiet, a trait Bassett had thought was impossible for him to attain, yet his mouth was shut as the road stretched into infinity, and they followed it duly, a warm wind swiveling past them, sun blindingly touching the steel armor that adorned Wymer, awakening memories of countless other early summers spent adventuring, and with them, the reminder of blood spilled upon the blooming ground, the dark red drowning newly born daisies trodden down into the earth, and sweat soaking the stained fabric of his tunic. He shuddered in the still warmth, excitement trailing down his spine like a drop of water. His breath hitched in his throat, and Bassett glanced up at the metal snout that was Wymer's helmet, but he recieved no answering glance, and was left to look back at the road, listening to the horse hooves make contact with the dry dirt and rock.

 

 

 

"You know where the dragon is, right?" Bassett eventually asked, nervously, a few hours after, when he had grown tired of the swiveling landscape around him. "Of course I do. They search for caves and mountains, where they might burrow and hoard their treasures. But of course, abandoned fortresses are an even more preferable alternative... And I know of one such fortress that I believe your royal wench has been taken to." He didn't give Bassett an opportunity to be offended, for he stopped the horse abruptly, jumping off of it and leaving Bassett once again clutching the reins. "W-what are you doing?" He timidly inquired, watching as Wymer opened one of the side saddles, rummaging through it before pulling out a long, brown cloak, thick and heavy. Wymer looked behind them, and Bassett followed his gaze to the approaching dark grey clouds. "It will rain soon, and I do not plan on getting this get-up rusty." With a flourish, the cloak was now resting on his shoulders, and he tied it together at the front, the hood having to be carefully lifted over the decorative feather on the back of his helmet. He came back upon the horse, and Bassett hesitated for a moment before speaking.

 

"...And I will have to endure it?" He knew it was coming, but he still flinched when Wymer laughed. "You came uninvited, so yes, you will have to endure the downpour. It is a better option for you than me dropping you off right here, hm?" And Bassett had to agree with that.

 

Sure enough, the clouds caught up with them, and the sky darkened as rain poured down from the heavens, heavy enough to transform the dry as bones ground to mud, Wymer's towering form just barely giving Bassett shelter. A town became visible in the distance, tall wooden pikes making a wall around the buildings, torches attached to the front gate, their flames not extinguished by the rain. Bassett shook as a cold wind howled, the rain surging directly into his face. "Why are we going towards that town?" Bassett could barely hear himself, but Wymer seemed to be able to. "To have shelter for the night, you idiot!" He shouted, and the horse ran, the wall getting closer, and just as they reached the gate, two guards in armor, the captain wearing a red cloak, stepped in front to stop them, hands on the hilts of their swords. 

 

"Halt! What is your business here?" The cloaked one bellowed, and Wymer obediently stopped the horse, raising himself properly. "I come to seek shelter for a night." He spoke with faux nobility, and Bassett sat awkwardly, hat drooping with the weight of all the absorbed rainwater and small body shivering in the cold. The captain seemed to eye them suspiciously for a few moments. "Then you will have to pay. We have no desire to let in any more thieving scoundrels." He declared, his colleague standing near the guard house. Wymer placed a hand on his hip, cloak moving out of the way, as though to reveal the curves of a maiden, but all it revealed was the white tunic that hugged his narrow waist and the belt that held the sheath of his sword. "I am sure we can negotiate said price..." His voice slithered, and the guards looked at each other.

 

"Depends on what you can offer." The captain said, and Bassett could feel Wymer huff behind him. "Then let us negotiate in the dryness of your station." Wymer said, and when the captain nodded, he jumped off of the horse, unstrapping his sword and handing it to the captain, who passed it to the guard, who then went inside. Wymer was considerate enough to help Bassett to the ground, and tied the horse to the guards station beneath it's roofs small overhang. 

 

Wymer proceeded into the guardhouse, ducking his head to enter the offices, and when Bassett would follow him, the guard blocked his way and closed the door in the man's face, leaving him in the entryway, puzzled and irritated. Wymer removed the rain soaked cloak, and the captain stood in front of him, arms crossed. The other guard was behind Wymer, close to the door, to make sure he did not attempt an act of violence.

 

"Now we are here, you must offer your payment. Five coins will gain you access to the town." The captains voice was gruff and utmost serious, and Wymer smirked. "Oh, I am afraid I do not carry such coin. I am but a traveling knight in search of work, after all. I can offer my services instead, if that would appease you." He said, humbly showing his empty palms, no coin sack tied to his belt, and armor adorned with battle scars. The captain glanced behind at the guard, who scoffed. "Services?" The captain offered the question, taking a step closer to the knight, and the guard muttered the word 'sodomite' with distaste. "Yes, exactly. I am certain such men as you would not object to that?" Wymer said, and the two seemed to consider his payment duly. "Remove your helm." The captain ordered, and Wymer obliged, lifting the heavy metal armor off of his head, his darkened locks, hit with rain that had slipped through the helmet's eye slit, sticking to his flushed cheeks, and he drew a hand through them to draw them away. He let a breath surge through his parted lips, pink and youhtfully full, soft to touch. The captain then took another step, sliding back the chainmail hood to fully reveal Wymer's head of hair, the metal circles clinking as they folded about his neck. 

 

It seemed that he was acceptable, for the captain slowly drew his leather gloved thumb across Wymer's lower lip and jawline, lifting his head to reveal his pale neck. "Get on your knees." He ordered, and Wymer did as he was asked, dropping to the floor with his elbows on the ground and gazing at the captain with a challenging look about him, and this prompted the man to go behind him, Wymer not turning his head to see, for that would make him out to be unsure of the events that would unfold; the captain thus sat down on his knees as well and lifted the fabric and hauberk that reached Wymer's knees, revealing his thick soldier's hosen and the linen drawers beneath them. The captain removed his gloves, letting his hands cup Wymer's arse, pleased with it's rounded and feminine shape. The knight himself could not help but grow impatient, craving for more than chaste caresses; as if an answer to his silent prayer, the captain yanked his drawers down to reveal the bare skin, pale, but as he groped it it flushed with red color, and he allowed the hardness that tented his tunic to grind against it in one motion, eliciting a sigh from the depraved man who patiently untied his hosen and revealed his erect member, red and warm, excited enough by the very situation. As the captain took ahold of his arousal, he sucked on his other hand's fingers till they were coated in his spit, and he traced the cold tips along Wymer's entrance, slowly circling the rim, earning a shudder from the awaiting knight as they pushed further inwards, entering his warmth with their coolness.

 

"A whore, are you? You do not feel like a virgin." The captain remarked as Wymer stretched easily and welcomingly around his digits, yet there was no looseness to be felt. "It is better than only your head being able to enter, like with a maid's cunt!" Wymer replied, and the captain must've agreed, for his member took the place of his fingers, pressing against the lubricated entry before entering with a gliding motion, aided by the precum that had collected at the tip, the captain emitting a low moan whilst Wymer bit his tongue. A few, short thrusts in place occured before the whole length was inside Wymer, stiff and burning with desire, the captain's hips jerking instinctively despite the fact he could go no further. With a deep breath, his hands took ahold of Wymer's waist, caressing the smooth and soft skin whilst his prick slowly went back and forth, enveloped by warmth and wetness, tighter than the bloom of a lady, yet rougher, and the head of the captains cock soon felt a smooth bump, adjusting the angle of his thrusts and hitting it with a powerful movement, making Wymer cry out, his member straining against his codpiece, aching with a sudden need for stimulus. The captain laughed heartily, and his attacks became stronger, his member barely removing itself from Wymer before it slammed back inside, reveling in the sensation of the repeated action.

 

As he watched Wymer getting fucked, the guard at the door stood with his own prick keenly aroused, moving himself in front of the pacified knight and revealing to him his member, shorter than the captains, but no less hard, awaiting pleasure as he kneeled down. "Ah... Two... at once, hm? Been a while..." Wymer said between gasps and stifled moans, opening his mouth to accommodate the cock of the guard that thrust into him, making the knight gag, but he swallowed the nausea and his tongue curled around the phallus, dragging along it's veiny length as it ravaged him like any whore's cunt, allowing him not the luxury of air, having to breathe through his nose, and though unpleasant, the very smell and taste of the salty, wet flesh drove his body mad, pulsating with energy and delight. The captain's pace had quickened again, and his cock was hitting into Wymer from the tip to the hilt, relentless, so desperate to reach the peak, attacking again and again and again, the captain himself breathing heavily, holding back the moans of pleasure that would give away his enjoyment. The guard quickened as well, hands cupping Wymer's cheeks, forcing his head to stay aloft and at level, the glans of his prick repeatedly hitting the very root of Wymer's tongue, secreting the clear liquid that preceded the spilling of his seed, only making Wymer anticipate it that much more.

 

Bassett stood outside the door, listening to the sounds of flesh on flesh, of rough moans escaping reddened lips, and he was mortified, heart pounding in his chest as he attempted to see through the crack in the door, the sight of Wymer being fucked from both ends enough to make his head so light he feared he might collapse, and he quickly turned his back towards the wall again, eyes wide and blood hot in his veins.

 

With a loud and drawn out moan, the guard came, his thrusts stuttering to a halt and fingers grasping Wymer's hair, breath hitching as his prick ejaculated salty white liquor which pooled in Wymer's mouth, forcing him to swallow lest he choke on it, and the guard withdrew, a trail of his essence from the tip of his member to Wymer's lips, and when it severed, it clung to Wymer's chin, his hair disheveled and cheeks red from arousal. The guard stood up and sat down in a chair in the corner of the room, slowly stroking his softening member as he continued to witness his captain fucking the knight with vigour, head leaned back and thighs shaking with exertion and pleasure, and just as Wymer suspected he was going to come, the captain exited him abruptly, making the knight gasp, and the man took ahold of him, lifting him to bend him over the table that stood flush against the wall, his abdomen jutting into the edge. Quickly, the captain once again penetrated him, this time with a desperate groan, crossing his arms across Wymer's chest and holding him tight against his front, prick thrusting in and out of him with intense and dominating slams. "I want to hear you moan." The man said, voice husky and drowned in a red, warm liquid lust, one of his hands untying Wymer's codpiece, Wymer sighing in relief at the release of his member, though the sigh melted into a moan when the captain took ahold of the erect cock and pumped it feverishly, head buried in the crook of Wymer's neck, lost in an ecstatic delirium of passion and love for this unknown whore, whole body burning with sweat and heat, Wymer's likewise. 

 

"Come for me." The captain demanded, his thumb circling Wymer's tip, the knight hissing and letting out the most feminine of gasps, innocent to the mind but not to the body, struggling to contain his dignity. "As you wish, sire!" He said, turning his head towards the captains, cheek brusing against the metal helmet, and with a shuddering, low moan, he came, thrusting forward while his cum dripped to the floor, the edge of the table painfully hitting his flesh. The captain, that did not let go of Wymer's member, thrust once, twice, thrice, and even when he cried out and Wymer felt his insides fill with warm seed, the captain did not cease his movements, clutching onto Wymer with his whole strength, holding him in a vice grip, the overload of sensations making tears sting at Wymer's eyes, his member errupting again with an almost painful second orgasm. The captain finally slowed, and his grip loosened, letting go of Wymer's member, though he rested against him for a moments time, shaking, and then he removed himself from the knight, gazing at the debauched body before him, heart still thundering in his chest.

 

Wymer stood up, legs and arms feeling weak and numb, though he managed to clean himself with the rag the guard threw him. He then pulled up his drawers and tied his hosen back up, running a hand through his hair before adorning his helmet again. "You're free to pass through the gates now." The captain said, voice barely recovered from his rapid breathing. The guard was cleaning himself, evidently having peaked once again while watching the ordeal. "I thank you for your generosity." Wymer nodded, putting his cloak back on. The captain hesitated, but elected not to speak. "Oh, and my name is Wymer; i'm sorry I did not tell you so before, I was quite distracted from the matter of introducing myself." Wymer said, and the guard wondered how he had went from a moaning mess to a chatterbox in just a few minutes. "Ylfer, and Dal." The captain said, gesticulating towards his colleague when saying the other name. 

 

"Well, Ylfer and Dal, it has been a pleasure." Wymer answered before he exited the room, sighing in the joy of afterglow when he spotted Bassett, back completely against the wall, eyes wide and face pale. "Oh, leave a servant out for ten minutes and they'll catch a cold!" He tutted, donning the hood of his cloak. "Wymer..." Bassett said, swallowing all of the sounds he had heard. "Yes?" Wymer replied, though did not look at his companion. "...You know we have far more than five coins in the saddlebags, right?" The servant said, and Wymer looked at him with a cocked head. "Yes, but where's the fun in that?" He answered in complete earnesty, leaving the guardhouse with a horrified Bassett in tow.

 

"Now come on, this storm will only get worse!" He said, although the bitter cold did not much bother him, for his body was still quite warm. The gates opened, and they passed through, Wymer with the horse in tow, rain battering against their backs as they made their way down the cobblestone, street empty of all life, everything tucked away in the safety of the tall, multilevel houses. They found a tavern and used little of their coin to rent a room and a pitcher of ale, Bassett declining on accounts of the fact simply drinking the foam would make him drunk. 

 

"Could I use you as a teddybear to sleep with?" Wymer asked as he laid in the alcove, hands folded on his chest and gazing at Bassett who was on the other side in the upper corner, wrapped up in the harsh woolen blankets. "No, you cannot." He sneered and turned away from the knight, who sighed. "Alright, alright."

 

And thus, they slept through the storm, the rain pattering on the windows and dripping through holes in the ceiling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bassett was originally not going to have any real role whatsoever, just send Wymer to the king, but I like him a bit too much to let him go now. 
> 
> You may also wonder; How short is he actually? Well, since this is set in a fantasy universe, I imagine he is about 3,5 feet, but does not have the physique of a person with dwarfism, while Wymer is above average for the time at 6,2 feet tall.

**Author's Note:**

> I promise things heat up considerably, I just rushed this because i don't have much time to write.


End file.
